Clement’s ungloved hands were numb with cold, but the bottle was warm from the G’deon’s breast. Clement closed her hand around the bottle and then she jammed it into her pocket.
She had been precisely, deliberately, irresistibly coerced, and she knew it.
The G’deon said, very gently, “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you.” She released her hold on Cadmar’s throat. He stumbled back, gasping for breath, then opened his mouth in a raw shout of rage.
Karis gazed somberly at him through the twisted bars of the gate. The iron lay between his fist and her.
Clement had stepped forward to steady him, but that courtesy only brought her within range. I should have known better,she thought, just before his massive fist smashed into her face.
When Clement’s vision cleared, she found herself sprawled on ice and cobblestones. There was a lot of shouting. She was dragged aside like a sack of turnips. Something clattered lightly on the stones. She reached for it, but could not quite seem to grab hold of it. It was farther than she thought, then closer. Finally, she grasped it, and examined it with puzzlement.
A piece of a shattered crossbow bolt.
She lifted her head and peered at the guard tower. Her vision swam—but those dismayed shouts concerned her.
“Lieutenant-General, keep your head down!”
It was very forward, and very thoughtful, of the soldier to shout at her like that. She ignored her, and with some effort got herself on her elbows, knees, and finally to her feet, in a sickeningly spinning world.
The soldier caught her before she fell again.
“I have got to talk to the general,” she slurred.
“Not wise,” the soldier said. “Give it a moment. You’re addled from the blow.”
“Wise?” She looked at her in confusion.
“Gods of hell,” said the soldier. “Why can’t they get the gate unlocked?”
Clement looked at the gate. The captain fought the key in the resisting lock. He shouted an order at the towers. Clement looked up—when would the sky stop that nauseating spin? In the towers, armored soldiers picked up a ladder. It fell apart in their hands. Rungs clattered onto stone. Side supports broke into pieces.
The whole world seemed to be coming apart. Perhaps the guns also lay in pieces. Not a shot had been fired.
Clement wrenched herself out of the stunned soldier’s grip. Cadmar and Gilly had taken shelter against the wall on the other side of the gate. She stumbled across—were the stones actually heaving under her feet?
“Cadmar!” she cried.
He turned. His throat was already bruising purple. His face was red. He had the weird, blank gaze of a berserker.
She shouted at him. “Call after the G’deon! Tell her you’ve changed your mind! Tell her you will make peace!”
The soldier had been right: she was addled. And she was too slow to turn away from his fist. Her nose gave a sickening crack. She went down in snow. She could not pay attention to much of anything for a while. Then, she realized she was suffocating on snow and blood, and began choking and coughing, and then she could breathe.
Her face was a pain so vivid that it cleared all the clutter of fear straight out of her mind.
She felt her pocket. The bottle of milk had not broken. She rested her battered face gently in the soothing, scarlet-stained snow, and waited for the chaos to end and the bleeding to stop.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The soldiers and their shattered weapons were trapped behind walls they could not climb and a gate they could not open. Garland strolled away with Karis’s hand again on his shoulder, and Mabin snickering to herself at Karis’s other side.
Emil stepped out of the alley from which he had been watching, and showed them the way down a maze of back roads. They were not escorted by the visible and remarkable Paladins, but by a half dozen ordinary, if somewhat self-important, townsfolk. These people looked sidelong at Karis, who plodded like a plow horse coming home from the fields.
Near someone’s back garden, Norina paced up and down by a covered delivery wagon. She uttered an exclamation at the sight of Karis’s face. “What happened?”
Karis crawled into the delivery wagon and folded herself up in a corner. Norina gave Emil a significant glance, and followed her in.
“What went wrong?” Emil asked tiredly.
Mabin leaned her head close to his, for the gathered people had anxiously drawn forward. “General Cadmar is Karis’s father.”
Emil glanced sharply at Garland, who nodded a confirmation. “Did she kill him?” Emil asked. “Or not?”
Garland thought that if Karis had killed Cadmar it would have devastated her. And if she hadn’t, it still would have devastated her. In the shadows of the van, Karis’s face seemed like a pale mask. Norina had clasped one of her hands, and was talking to her urgently, with her mouth close to her ear.
“She seemedresolved,” Mabin said uncertainly.
“She killed him,” Garland said.
Emil glanced at him again, inquiringly. Garland held up his hands as Karis had when she put them both through the gate. “This is your son’s life,” he quoted Karis, gesturing towards the right. Then, he gestured towards the left, holding an invisible Cadmar by the throat, speechless.
“This is my father’s death,” said Emil.
Garland put his hands down, feeling extremely self-conscious. Mabin was giving him a very surprised look, but Emil clasped Garland’s elbow and said, “I knew you were the right one to send in with her.”
They got in the wagon and closed the doors, and were taken on a jolting journey across rough cobblestones. Garland supposed that Norina’s fierce whisper continued to fling itself at Karis’s obdurate silence, but all he could hear was the rumble of the wheels. When the wagon stopped and the door opened, the light revealed a sight Garland had never imagined possible: Karis in a huddle, with her face buried in Norina’s shoulder, Norina’s hand stroking the mad tangle of her hair.
Yet another contingent of awestruck citizens had met the wagon at the back of a dry goods shop. Emil firmly pushed the crowd back, and Karis crawled heavily out of the wagon. White-faced, stark-eyed, she began to remove a ragged glove so she could properly greet this new group of strangers, but Emil said firmly, “Karis, you’ve done enough. Who’s in charge here? Take us where we’re going, please.”
Walking next to Karis, Garland took part of her weight—not a light burden. Karis asked Norina, “Where’s Leeba?”
“Is there something wrong with your ravens? Emil!”
Emil extricated himself from an intense conversation with Mabin. Norina said to him, “We’ve got to find the ravens somehow, and get them into shelter. And does anyone know exactly where Leeba is?”
“She’s with my children, ice skating,” a nearby woman said. “The pond is over there—see those treetops?”
Emil said, “Send someone to bring Leeba to Karis. And J’han also—he’s with her.”
“I’ll go myself.” The woman left.
Emil picked another member of their escort, apparently at random, who found himself in a very peculiar conversation with the G’deon of Shaftal as she attempted to tell him where the ravens were by describing what the birds could see. They walked down a narrow passageway between buildings, and Karis was saying, “It seems like a big garden, with a fountain in the middle.”
“Is there a red and green house nearby, with a tower? And a lightning rod with a blue glass ball in it?” Apparently, Emil had managed to pick the exact person in their group who knew every minuscule detail of his town’s landscape.
Karis stumbled on a loose cobblestone. Up ahead, there stood an extremely dilapidated house, with a Paladin standing guard at the sagging back gate. They appeared to have arrived at their next destination.
The baby’s girl-nurse still huddled in the bed, but she was awake, and wide-eyed with fear. “Lieutenant-General, I’m sorry—I didn’t know—” The baby lay in his basket, blanket-wrapped, though t
he stupid girl had let the fire practically burn out. The girl’s terrified babbling continued, but Clement paid her no heed. She picked up her son and sat down by the cold hearth.
A couple of confused soldiers had helped Clement to her quarters, and now stood uncertainly in the doorway. Clement broke the wax seal on the milk bottle, stuck in her finger, and let a drop of milk fall from her fingertip to the baby’s mouth.
She waited. His mouth moved. She dipped her finger again, and put it into her son’s mouth, and felt the slight movement of his lips and tongue as he sucked.
A drop of blood fell from her nose to his blanket. As she tilted her head so the blood would run down her throat, she noticed the wide-eyed soldiers. “Escort this girl out of the garrison.”
“I’m not sure we can.”
“If they haven’t got the gate open yet, lower her over the wall with a rope. Tell her to go home to her parents.”
“Yes, Lieutenant-General.”
The other soldier said sympathetically, “The general’s got a heavy fist, eh? I’ll find a medic for you.”
They left, dragging the sobbing girl, who probably thought she was going to be killed. Clement fed her son from her fingertip. Later, she paused to build up the fire and to boil a clean bottle. She returned to find the baby blinking at her from his basket.
She said, “Well, I’ve ruined my career for you.”
His mouth opened; he sucked her finger hungrily.
She said, more to herself than to him, “So the child creates the parent, eh? Backwards though it seems?” She added, “Listen, little guy. I have to tell you some surprising news: you aren’t going to be a soldier.”
As they entered the run-down, back-alley house with a roof that seemed certain to leak and a garden that was piled with frozen ordure, Garland could hear a muted commotion of cleaning, of furniture being brought in and the rapid, confident banging of several carpenters’ hammers. They entered a big, crowded kitchen, and Garland was immediately irritated to see how far advanced the cooking had gotten without his help. A survey of the first-floor rooms revealed that all the bedrooms were in the midst of a frenzy of cleaning, so he told Norina to bring Karis into the parlor. As Garland put together a plate of bread and cold meat and got a pot of tea steeping, J’han arrived with Leeba, followed by a woman carrying two exhausted ravens. In the parlor, Karis held Leeba on her lap, and listened, as though she had no other concerns, to her daughter’s excited account of alphabet lessons, ice skating, and playing with a pet ferret. J’han had gotten Karis’s boots off and was affectionately admonishing her for getting her feet wet.
Garland sat on the stool beside Karis and piled a little mound of cold ham onto a small, slim square of black bread, dabbed it with mustard, and decorated it with transparent sweet pickles. This he rather summarily slipped into Karis’s mouth. Leeba found the operation hilarious and demanded that she be allowed to help. Karis ate passively and obediently from her daughter’s hand. For the first time, Garland could see the lingering ghost of Karis the smoke addict, who had gotten in the habit of cooperating with the people who worked to make her survive a drug that eventually killed everyone who used it. It was a terrible insight.
Garland felt Norina’s discomforting gaze on him, as he piled up more ham for Leeba to feed to Karis. “Careful—don’t let it fall apart,” he said, as the little girl snatched it from him.
“Karis doesn’t likepickles,” Leeba announced when a pickle slice fell to the floor.
“She does so. You’re the one who doesn’t like pickles.”
“The ravensdon’t even like pickles,” Leeba persisted, as Emil came in with another raven. “Open up!” she said severely to her mother, and jammed the food into her mouth.
Garland glanced at Norina finally. The Truthken had done something to Karis—had grabbed hold of her somehow and pulled her back from a cliff she was about to fall over. Now the danger was past, and Norina looked cool and distant as ever, and the hand she rested on Karis’s shoulder was merely reminding her that she was there.
“Emil, that pot on the table should be ready to pour,” Garland said.
Emil had put his raven on the back of a chair. “Bless you,” he said sincerely and began pouring tea. “Do you want some, Karis?”
“No tea,” J’han said. “By Shaftal, she’s going to sleep.”
Karis wiped mustard from her lip. “I am? How?”
“Feet first.” J’han had one of Karis’s big, callused feet in his hands. He reached for the oil that he had set on the hearth to melt and proceeded with a demonstration.
Karis sank visibly into her chair. “The Sainnites—” she began.
Mabin, who had just come in, said, “Karis, give some credit to your people. If Sainnites start tearing things apart, we’ll take care of it. You don’t actually have to solve every single problem with your own hands.”
As Emil gave Mabin a confused look, Norina uttered a sharp laugh. “Are you supplanting me as Karis’s scold? I doubt she can endure two of us, but I’d be glad to find a new occupation.”
“No, thank you. It seems a pointless job.”
Emil went to lean wearily by the fireplace. “Karis, I’m told the Sainnites managed to get two parties of soldiers over the wall, but that the soldiers seem very skittish and are only going through the motions of hunting for us. Every person in Watfield is keeping an eye on them. Believe me, it is safe for you to sleep.”
Karis had shut her eyes. Whatever J’han was doing to her foot seemed irresistible. “I suppose,” she said. “Since they’re got no weapons.”
Emil straightened sharply, and had to steady his teacup in its saucer. “None at all?”
Karis murmured, “J’han, I concede. Your power is greater than mine.”
J’han said, “Leeba, let Karis lie down on the floor. You can help her take a nap, if you want to.”
“Even the edged weapons?” said Emil, as Leeba crawled off Karis’s lap.
“Dull beyond repair,” said Karis. “Even the kitchen knives.”
Garland stood up. “I’ll get some blankets and a pillow.”
But he paused at the door, distressed suddenly by the memory of that tired and hungry soldier, the lieutenant-general, reeling back from the general’s vicious blow. “Emil?”
Emil was sipping spilled tea out of his saucer. He gave Garland a glance of a sort that had never been directed at him before: not merely inquiring, but respectful. It was unnerving.
“Do you wantto make the Sainnites completely desperate?” Garland asked.
“No, no, not at all. I want them reasonable.”
“Without kitchen knives, they’ll have nothing to eat but porridge. That’s going to make them desperate.”
Emil gazed at him thoughtfully, obviously waiting for a suggestion.
“Let’s feed them a decent meal,” Garland said.
Mabin uttered a snort of disbelief. “Five hundred soldiers?”
Emil, leaning on the wall again, crossed one booted foot over the other. “Oh, Garland can do it,” he said.
A tap at the door awoke Clement, and she was surprised to find that the room had grown dark, the fire had burned to coals, and her infant son slept in her arms, in the tangled mess the girl-nurse had made of the blankets on the bed. The medic had come by to set her broken nose. The pain had been awful, but somehow she had fallen into a doze despite it.
The door opened. “Clem? Can I come in?” It was Gilly.
“Has the garrison fallen apart yet?” Clement asked indifferently. She got up, and helped her old friend to a chair, and put the baby in his arms. The baby squinted at Gilly, yawned, and uttered a mild complaint.
Gilly blinked down at the infant, and smiled reluctantly. “This G’deon exercises a cruel generosity, eh? She gives you your heart’s desire so you can destroy yourself with it. But you’re so glad you don’t even care that you’re dead.”
“She apologized,” Clement said wryly. She lit a lamp, looked around rather hopelessly for
something to eat, and was briefly distracted by the sight of her face in the little mirror tacked to the wall.
“You’re even uglier than me at the moment,” Gilly said.
“I see that.”
“I always feared Cadmar would smash your face in someday.”
“It was inevitable, really.”
“Have you heard? The postern gates and the water gate can’t be opened. The weapons can’t be repaired. Not a blade in the garrison will hold an edge. We’ve got nothing to defend ourselves with but our bare hands.”
Clement couldn’t bring herself to be concerned. She sat heavily beside him, her face throbbing. “So what will Cadmar do? Surrender, or let us be massacred?”
“Hell, I don’t know. The man’s been in a temper all afternoon. Maybe he’s trying to shout the G’deon to death. Do you think she’s actually his daughter? She seems too astute, frankly.”
The baby yelped. “Are you hungry again, Gabian?” Clement picked up the bottle that she had left to keep warm on the hearth. Gilly handed her the baby.
“A good name,” he commented. “Your mother’s, I believe.”
Gabian sucked the bottle energetically, gazing into Clement’s face, apparently indifferent to her swollen nose and black eye.
“Has Cadmar had you write my demotion orders yet?” Clement asked.
“Not yet. But you don’t actually care, do you?”
Clement looked at her bent, worried, desperately unhappy friend, and felt a wrenching helplessness. “Gilly, I’ve reached the end.”
Gilly gazed determinedly at his hands, which rested on his sturdy, battered cane. “You’re going to desert. I knew that when I heard you had sent the girl away. You’ve got to get out now, or your son will starve. But where can you hope to find shelter? I know you, Clem: maybe you imagine that cow farmer would be glad to see you again, but you’ll never impose such a risk on her. The local Paladins might find a use for you, but not a use you could accept. The G’deon, though, she’s gone out of her way to put you in this position. What do you think? If she shelters you, will she allow you to advocate for your people without actually betraying them? That’s a very difficult balance to keep—I should know.”
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